Dawning
by ReySolo
Summary: AU, shonen ai, 3+4. Somewhat dark. Quatre’s a vampire...


AU, shonen ai, 3+4. Somewhat dark. Quatre's a vampire...

Dawning  
by ReySolo

"Are you okay?"

I look up into his concerned green eyes, and swallow hard. No, I am very **not** okay, but I don't want him near me. For his own sake, I want him as far away from me as possible. "I'm fine," I state, more calmly than I believed I was capable of. "You can go now, I'll be fine."

He shakes his head and steps toward me, his steady gaze never faltering. "No, you're in pain. I want to help you."

I take a shaky breath, trying to hide the shudder that runs through my body as he moves closer. No, I haven't taken a human's blood in almost a year, I'm not going to start now, and I'm sure as hell not going to take **his**.

Damn him. Why did he have to go and make me like him? **Love** him? My kind aren't supposed to love his kind. How I wish I could just bring him over, make him like me, but I wouldn't do that to him. Just as I despise the one who made me how I am, I know he would never forgive me for such an act. Living forever just isn't all it's cracked up to be, especially when you have to either feed on blood or live writhing in agony.

Like I'm practically doing right now. Lying on the floor, in the back of a smoky nightclub, and I haven't had any of the cow's blood I keep in my fridge in almost twenty-four hours. I need to get home, but I don't know how I'm going to do that in the condition I'm in, and with the sun up. Plus, the weaker I get, the less I'll be able to control the growing desire to just suck the blood out of the nearest human.

And at this point, the nearest human happens to be **him**. The mortal with whom I managed to fall in love, despite having only known him for a few weeks. He also happens to be the reason I'm laying here like this. I'm not saying it's his fault; I know it was my own stupid negligence, but it was essentially due to him.

See, last night he came over to my apartment to surprise me. I'm not stupid, I never give out my address, but he found out somehow. I suppose that's the problem with dating a private investigator. So anyway, when he woke me up ringing my doorbell early last night, it was a total shock to me, since I rarely have visitors at all. He asked if I had plans for tonight (he knows I sleep days and work or go out nights, but he doesn't know why), and I was too startled and flattered to turn him down. So I quickly dressed and we left. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of not grabbing a bottle of blood before leaving. Then we ended up coming to this open-24-hours night club, and with the fun I'd been having just talking and dancing with him, I totally lost track of time.

Returning my mind to the present, I gesture for him to back off. "I can take care of myself, just—get away from me!" I beg.

I see the hurt my plea causes in his eyes, but he quickly masks it and takes another step closer. "It's obvious that you need help. Should I call an ambulance?"

I know the fear that idea causes is obvious as I back away. "No! I just need to get home, and I'll be fine," I insist.

"Then I'll help get you home," he answers swiftly.

I open my mouth to argue, but realize he probably is offering the best solution. "Okay, but, um..." I trail off, trying to figure out how best to describe my problem without sounding ridiculous. "Could you bring your car up as close to the exit as you can, and open the door for me? I kind of have this, um, bad reaction to being in the sun."

He looks at me calculatingly, and I wonder what he's thinking. After a moment, he replies, "That's why you work nights, huh?"

I nod, relieved, though I wonder what made me fear he knew the real truth.

He hands his jacket to me, and I take it gratefully, knowing it will help at least a little. "I'll help you get to the door, then go move my car, okay?" he asks, stepping toward me once more.

"No! No, I can walk on my own, just go get your car..." I stand slowly, and note with sorrow the moment of hurt he shows once again at my refusal to let him near me.

Looking back at me once more, as if afraid I'll run off as soon as he turns his back, he moves off through the small crowd and out the door. Focusing all my energy on walking past all the people without giving in to my dark urges, I finally make it to the exit. At least at this time in the morning there aren't as many people as there could be; the more fresh blood around the harder that would have been.

Luckily the space right in front of the club is free, and I see him pull up soon after I reach the door. He quickly jumps out and opens the door, then, with a hesitant look in my direction, returns to the driver's seat. I wrap his jacket and my clothes around me to protect myself from the scalding rays, then scramble out toward his car. Once inside, I close the door, then keep the jacket strategically placed so the sun coming through the windows doesn't touch me.

He turns to me for a moment. "You're going to be okay, Quatre. I promise." He then throws the car into drive and we speed back toward my apartment, and the blood that will save me from this horror.

When we finally get to my apartment, I race to the refrigerator for a bottle. My eyes widen as I see nothing but empty shelves. No... I look over at my counter, on which are several bottles, all empty. No... I somehow ran out, and totally forgot to go get more from the butcher shop. How could I have been so **stupid**? Not one, but three distinct stupid mistakes: I forget to get more before I run out, I don't check for any before leaving, and then I stay out past sunrise.

Now I have no idea what I'm going to do. Slamming the fridge door shut, I lean against the wall and slide down it, putting my head in my hands. Then I look up, realizing I'd forgotten he'd followed me in. He glances at me, the fridge, the empty bottles, and me again. I don't make a move to stop him as he walks over to the bottles and sniffs them. The look on his face implies that the smell reinforced his beliefs rather than confusing or disgusting him.

He meets my eyes, but doesn't move any closer. "I'm right, aren't I?" he asks without inflection.

I open my mouth and close it, then swallow and look away, not answering.

"You're a vampire," he states in the same monotone.

Still not meeting his eyes, I speak for the first time since we were in the club. "Kill me. Now. I promise I won't try and stop you."

"Why would I do that?"

Startled, my eyes fly up to meet his. His gaze is a mixture of curiosity and concern. More than a little confused by his reaction, I explain, "I'm out of cow's blood, my urges are getting stronger, soon I'm not going to be able to stop myself from going out there and drinking human blood, killing people. You have to kill me before that happens. Go get a tree branch or something; a wooden stake through the heart is probably the best way. Please, Trowa."

"How much control do you have?" he asks nonchalantly, undoing the cufflinks on his right shirt sleeve and rolling it up.

No... He can't be suggesting what I think he's suggesting... "No, not enough for what you have in mind, don't even think about it!" I command.

He shrugs, pulling something out of his pocket. I wince and draw back a bit as I realize it's a cross. Just how long had he been suspecting I was a vampire? "What if I just pull this out before you've taken too much, to make you back off? Hopefully, that'll be enough to tide you over so I can go get you more from wherever you usually get it," he suggests, putting the cross away.

Unconsciously I lick my lips as my eyes focus on the veins showing in his now-exposed wrist. Forcing my eyes up to his face, I shake my head vehemently. "No, it's too much of a risk. I could kill you! Please, Trowa, just—"

"I am **not** going to kill you!" His shout makes me jump. I think that's the first time I've ever heard him even raise his voice. Switching back to his usual calm voice, he continues, "I may not be able to change what you are, but I can at least help you live with it. Please, Quatre, let me help you." He takes a step toward me.

Trying desperately not to look at the bare wrist, not to smell the fresh blood being offered to me, I search his eyes for some explanation for his actions. "Why?"

He shrugs. "I love you," he states, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

For a moment I totally forget about my dire need for blood, and sit there blinking at him, open-mouthed. Finally, I am able to form words again. "I love you, too, dammit! And that's why I won't let you risk your life for me!"

"It's my life to risk," he answers, closing the distance between us with a few steps and holding out his arm.

I lick my lips again, staring at the wrist only inches from my face. He knows I won't be able to stop myself with him this close, and I hate him for it. Finally, it becomes too much, and my hands shoot forward and grab his arm, pulling his wrist to my mouth. Slowly and deliberately, my sharpened teeth pierce his skin, starting a steady flow of blood into my mouth and down my throat.

I'm lost in the sensation as I finally feed the desire, the **need** for blood. As it flows, I begin to suck harder, trying to swallow as much of the precious liquid as I possibly can. Dimly, beyond the pleasure of feeding, I feel his body beginning to weaken, but that doesn't seem to matter right now. Only my intake of blood matters.

Suddenly, I feel a burning sensation on my face and hands. Crying out half in surprise and half in pain, I fall back and pull away. My senses start to return as I realize he's taken out the cross as he'd planned. I lean my head against the wall, panting. He moves away as well, clutching his wrist with his other hand and looking at me questioningly.

I look back at him, feeling a strange mixture of outrage, concern, and gratitude, all at the same time. I can't imagine what's showing on my face. The inquiring look is still in his eyes, so I nod, and assure him, "This should be enough to last an hour or so. I get the blood from a butcher shop on 22nd and Elm, it's only a few blocks from here."

He slowly nods and moves toward the door, stumbling slightly. "Wait!" I stop him, and point to his jacket on the floor, indicating for him to wrap it around his bleeding wrist. He does so, then opens the door.

"I'll be back soon," he promises, then leaves.

"I know," I whisper to the shut door. "I'll be waiting."

~owari?~

Okay, here's the deal...

I like this universe. I actually have plans for another, longer, more plot-driven story, incorporating the rest of the boys. However, I don't have all that much time to write. Plus, I'm still working on Kazoku with Tori Sakana. Besides, I don't know if anyone cares enough for me to bother writing more of this.

So, whether I actually write and post the sequel will be dependent on whether people will want to read it. If I get enough reviews asking me to do it, I'll try, but if not, I'll have that extra time to work on other things.

So... what do y'all think? Continue, or leave it at this?

Of course, even if you don't think I should continue, I'd still love reviews! :)


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